


Eternal, Infinite, Forever

by haechansheaven



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:15:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27773644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haechansheaven/pseuds/haechansheaven
Summary: Deep within a forest in a far-off land, there is said to be a tower where time has stopped. The spire rises and rises, until it disappears among the clouds. It is the product of bedtime stories and the older Doyoung grows, the more he forgets. There is nothing truthful about the tales that his mother spun for him before bed, so there is no reason to remember.It is in that tower that he finds Taeyong.
Relationships: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung & Lee Taeyong, Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Lee Taeyong
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42
Collections: NCT Bigbang Round 1





	Eternal, Infinite, Forever

**Author's Note:**

> for NCT Big Bang. :]
> 
> [Here](https://twitter.com/duyaa_a/status/1333055617213341696) is Duya’s absolutely beautiful artwork of the greenhouse scene. :D

_Once upon a time, deep within a forest, stood a tower. It was so tall that it disappeared into the clouds._ _Kingdoms from across the land could see its stone walls. Inside the building, time had stopped. The forest protects the tower, and, in turn, the tower exists as a home for the forest. Many creatures call the forest their home. Men who turn into beasts and beasts who pretend to be men and wizards who wish to turn the world into their own. They all live to protect the tower, even if they do not know that. The ghosts of those who tried to find the tower wander and chase those seeking the magic out of the forest._

_Beyond the creatures and the trees stands the tower where a man waits and waits and waits. For someone, or for something. No one knows what he wants or what he needs, but he must be very, very lonely. The tower is said to have everything a person could want except for love._

☆☆☆

Doyoung was four when his mother first told him of the tower in the middle of the forest. It’s an old fable of sorts, the story that mothers tell their children to keep them in line. Men and women both work hard in the forest, hunting game, chopping trees, foraging, and making a path to allow people to traverse from one village to another. At four, the path was just beginning.

And, in a way, so was Doyoung’s story.

“ _Once upon a time,_ ” his mother would begin. “ _The tower is said to have everything a person could want except for love_ ,” his mother would end.

His mind, young, wasn’t able to understand the concept of an eternity, of forever. Even at eighteen, walking out the door, his mother fussing over him and his bags and his future, he can’t understand it. A human life can’t contain infinities in the same way a story can. Kun tells him that it is simply a _concept_ , something unproven, while Ten says that it is a god’s reality.

Both of them speak as if they _know_ what infinity holds, and all Doyoung can do is wonder when his realization will come. Perhaps he will later in his life, once he’s lived his years quietly and fruitfully. You see, Doyoung seeks to live a life of peace and kindness, though the sort of kindness that is only ever onto oneself and never needlessly handed to others. He’s not _selfish_ , per say, but he’s realistic and privy to the ways that the people around him move.

To live is to protect oneself, he thinks. To live is to learn a trade, get a job, and exist within the confines of your own ability to exist.

Doyoung was four when he believed the stories of the monsters and vicious humanoid creatures. He’s eighteen now, and the story no longer holds any power over him. Not that it ever _had_. Not when he and his friends had called the spaces between the trees their second home for the entirety of their abysmally monotonous childhood.

 _Safe_ , his father’s voice echoes in his mind. _Not boring, but safe_.

“You’ll stay to the path, won’t you?” His mother’s hands on his face are cold, a product of nervousness, probably. “I don’t know why you couldn’t wait for someone else…”

“No reason to delay the inevitable,” Doyoung placates her. Or tries to, anyways. His hands are as cold as hers, though a result of the cold spring morning. “The path is safe, and you both know it is. Kun, Ten, and I used to play in the forest all the time. This is just… farther in.”

“We weren’t a fan of that, and we aren’t a fan of this, now, but… There isn't anything we can do, is there?”

The reality, of course, is that Doyoung’s journey is predetermined by fate, and there is nothing his parents, Doyoung himself, or the world could do to stop it. There is a story, after all, that has lost its truth through the passage of time. All it is missing is its central piece.

At the edge of the forest is a trial of the emotional sort. He’s never been the type for grand gestures, eloquent monologues, or following his heart. Life has no room for irrationalities. Kun and Ten are fixtures in his life, after all, that have no sign of departing. This is no sort of forever, he thinks; Doyoung departs for a town to learn a trade and, one day, he will return. They will be here, he will be here, and their time together will revive the path they three walked together.

“You’re really leaving without saying goodbye?”

Doyoung takes a moment to press his lips together and look at his friends. It’s a nice moment to take in their appearances, seeing as it might be forever until they see one another again. “I said goodbye yesterday, didn’t I? When we left the forest,” is his answer. Blunt, to the point—very Doyoung.

Ten rolls his eyes, Kun shoves a book covered in charcoal dust into his arms, and that is that. The depth of their friendship isn’t something they can wrap up in tears and walk away from; separation, after all, is an inevitability. Distance is a way of life.

Part of Doyoung wants to complain and say that it isn’t fair; his brother, after all, has never left home.

He’s a diligent son, though. So, with a packed bag over his shoulder and a book in his arms, he leaves his town. “Thanks.”

“We’re not sure what use this’ll be for you,” Kun says, gesturing towards him with open palms, “but, if anything, I’m sure you could sell it for a little money if you fall on hard times. Though…”

“Though we doubt you’ll fall on hard times.” Heels flat on the dirt, Ten smiles the bright smile that has _always_ put Doyoung at ease, hand casually waving him off. “You’ve always been the better of us three, haven’t you? You’re even off on your own already.”

And, sure, Doyoung is off, back turned to a town that raised him. Nothing about that means he’s well off. Nothing about that means he’s _ready_. The world, however, expects him to be.

“Right.” Arms wrapped around the book, Doyoung nods. “I am.”

That’s how they say goodbye. Staunchly without fanfare. The book is full of memories in its own way, and Doyoung decides if he is to treasure anything on this journey, a gift is a good choice. His travels, after all, will take weeks. He will pass through towns and villages with names he has only heard in passing, scribbled down on a sheet of parchment pressed into his palm.

Trees are tall and full of secrets; their branches seem to welcome Doyoung into their home. This is how every story starts. A decision made on a whim, a story resting on the shoulders of a society, and a magic tower in the middle of a forest that promises an adventure with many stories to be told at the end of it all.

The path beneath his feet is no longer new, and Doyoung’s feet are sure on the well-worn path. Spring mornings are cold, yet colder under the cover of trees whose foliage grows so dense that sunlight streams in like threads. The village is a day, or perhaps two, or three, away, depending on how many stops Doyoung will make to stare between the trees with ease. This forest, after all, has always welcomed Doyoung.

It doesn’t make his walk any less lonely, though, and more than safety, he wishes that he had _companionship_. A forest can only keep you company for so long, he learns. Repetition does not offer anything but discomfort and uncertainty. When nothing changes, how is progress marked? A setting sun difficult to discern from between the trees? Doyoung isn’t the first to make this journey on his own, and he knows that he will not be the last.

As time passes, unseen strings pull Doyoung into a story that he was destined to belong in, though only if chance led him down the right path. Ensnared, time will continue to weave him into the stitches until he’s in too deep, too sure, and there’s nowhere for him to go. And it all happens so quickly, so efficiently, that Doyoung’s standing so deep in the forest he can no longer see the sun, hands wrapped around straps, body set on edge as he realizes he’s moved without thinking of a single command.

Something that no villager understands, is that the forest _knows_. It speaks in words that you can hear, though never understand, pulling people closer, inch by inch. They’re fated to live under the whims of the trees until the forest ceases to exist and it is just humans and the blue, blue sky. Doyoung is no exception, though he serves a different sort of purpose as fate wraps its fingers around him and pulls him close.

This is a fairy tale, Doyoung is our protagonist, and this is the way his story unravels:

Every hero must go through trials to learn lessons or gather boons. Doyoung is no different, except he isn’t a hero, and all he’s doing is accumulating compassion. The forest, after all, is a home to creatures that eye the world outside warily, their own stories weaving through populations and growing as time passes. Their home is shrinking, threats increasing.

A journey is personal, of course, but also formulaic in nature. There is a beginning, a middle, and an end, culminating in a lesson learned and bounties gained. People will come, and they will go, and Doyoung will let them, eventually, even if he doesn’t want to. They’re like checkpoints, really, and Doyoung will need to learn to accept that.

Doyoung had grown up thinking his world was so, so small and that journeys are linear. Between the trees, right and left no longer hold meaning. Rather, it’s the location of the moss, the faded trail in the grass, and the waning sunlight between the trees. As the sun sets and night settles, Doyoung remembers how little he knows of survival outside of a quaint house in a small town beside a shrinking forest.

And, well, perhaps this is a _true_ trial paired with a lesson. The ground is hard, and his bag serves as a terrible place to rest his head, and fires are more difficult to light than he once believed.

From between the trees, eyes watch in waiting, as Doyoung has finally arrived.

The ground is as unforgiving as fate, and Doyoung wakes up, hand cradling his neck. He has found himself in this unfamiliar world, pulled in by a story he cannot see, and this is where he is _now_. A little broken, very quiet, and very, very lost. You see, once the story takes hold, there’s no longer any power for one to move, other than in the way they _need_ to.

Getting lost, though, means being found, and Doyoung falls into the former category, though he seeks his path towards the latter.

Youngho is his way forward.

“Good morning, young sir.”

If Doyoung were to roll onto his back and stare into where the sky should be, he would see the face of a man—probably—and understand his circumstances. He doesn’t, though, because fear has gripped his soul, freezing his body. Life is fragile, after all, and no matter how the story is _intended_ to go, the reality can always change.

“Young sir?”

 _Doyoung_ , he wants to say.

Though, why? Why would he want to say that? _Why_ would he tell a _threat_ his name?

“If you need help standing, I am prepared to assist you.”

“Please don’t touch me.”

Doyoung’s voice sounds foreign, and for the briefest of moments, he wonders whether it’s even _his_. (It is, though not in the way he’s thinking.) His throat is dry, and it aches; the dew painted on blades off grass look more inviting than they were when he was a child and his mother told him that faeries left them in their wake. For a moment, Doyoung’s mind wonders how far from the path he has strayed.

“Of course not. Only with permission.” A subtle clearing of the throat, the sound of shifting. “However, we both have places to be, and they are not the same place, but it is my job to get _you_ there, so it would be beneficial for you to stand as quickly as possible.”

“Then I’m hallucinating.”

“If that is what you would like to believe, then yes. But we have places to be, so I request you hurry.”

Doyoung rolls onto his back to stare into the face of a man who has seen everything the world has to offer, and more. Or he _seems_ that way, at least, his eyes so dull that Doyoung thinks that they wouldn’t even glimmer in the sunlight. A hand is extended his way, flat and stiff, all signs that Doyoung should stand on his own. So, he does.

“The village shouldn’t be far…”

“The village? I am afraid that there is another place that you are needed for today.” The stranger stands tall, face disappearing into the shadows as he straightens. Doyoung feels no comfort, nor warmness, from this man. “Where you must be is of much more importance than the village towards which you were traveling. In fact, we are _technically_ behind schedule, so it would be beneficial for both of us if you were ready to depart.”

“And where am I supposed to be? I— _wait_. Who are _you_?” Silence is loud in the forest, and Doyoung wonders if he’s asked something he shouldn’t. The man is contemplative, polite as he takes several steps backwards as Doyoung sits up.

“The Tower. And I am Youngho. I suppose you would consider me an inhabitant of the Tower, though I never truly reside _within_ it.”

Youngho’s hands are clasped behind his back, but there is something _off_ about him the longer Doyoung stares. As if there is something incomplete about this stranger. Limbs slightly too long, a smile slightly too wide, a gaze much too confident. A shudder runs through his bones and he decides that it’s better not to say anything. Doyoung is the one who strayed too far into the forest, after all.

And, even if he doesn’t know this yet, Doyoung would have ended up between these trees, whether he was alone or with others. The presence of a group would do nothing to separate him from the tales tied to his fate. Rather, Doyoung does not realize the power of words quite yet. He will learn.

“A tower?”

“The Tower. It would do you well to refer to it as such. It is not a fan of… disrespect, I suppose.”

Standing, Doyoung is able to take in Youngho _better_ , though he isn’t sure if it is a good thing. If Youngho appeared inhuman from the ground, he is even less so while standing. The longer Doyoung stares at his smile, the more and more he realizes that Youngho simply doesn’t look… _right_. He’s handsome in the sort of way you think of storybook characters, but he’s incomplete in the same sort of way, parts of him unrealistic.

“There isn’t a tower in this forest.”

Youngho smiles, and it’s instinct, the way Doyoung takes a step back. “Of course there is. You know if it, as well. Did your mother not tell you the story of the Tower?”

Doyoung wants to laugh in the man’s face, so he does. Every child knows the story of the tower in the forest. “That story is just that. A _story_. After all, if the tower truly existed, wouldn’t I be able to see it from my village?”

“There are things that the human eye cannot see unless it is allowed. The Tower is one of those things.” Youngho speaks of the tower as if it were a conscious entity, and Doyoung cannot, for the life of him, understand why. “You will see it when it permits you to. Until then, I suggest you follow closely.”

“How far?”

“Far enough.” Youngho’s reply is succinct, much like his character. There’s something sharp to him; something just so off that Doyoung tenses under his watch. “Do not worry.”

He walks between the trees, self-assured, and Doyoung decides that following him is the only thing he can do. Of course, this is the story, Doyoung is our main character, and the journey is just beginning. Words hold power over the human mind and inevitable fate that all must bear witness to. Until the story ends, Doyoung will follow and the world will turn in ways he never thought possible.

Not that he’ll think much at all of anything.

The tower is so tall that Doyoung cannot see the top when he stands at the door. And Youngho was kind enough to guide him to the entrance, gaze faraway and yet expectant of the results. He is not the first to look at him like he holds the world, and yet Doyoung sincerely wishes that he will be the last. Nothing has fallen among expectations in quite a long time, however.

“The door is always open,” Youngho says, head tilted to the side. “From the outside, at least. He has been waiting a very long time for you. I suggest you not hesitate.”

“It’s not safe for it to stay open, though.” Doyoung’s hands are worn, and they don’t look familiar, wrapped around the handle. He’s not the same, though. The forest has wrapped itself around his heart, roots deep. “You should consider changing that, you know.”

Youngho’s smile is unnerving as always, though it’s considerably more discomforting to watch the unnatural tilt of his head deepen. “That is something that you can mention to him. There is nothing I can do about your request. I do promise that you will be safer inside than out here, of course. Particularly as the sun is setting.”

“Are you going to come inside, too? Didn’t you say you work in this tower?”

“Your concern is kind, though my tasks in the forest are not done. I will return when I am done.” Youngho’s bow is stiff and unnatural, as if his body should not bend in such a way.

When he opens the door, Youngho is gone, and these are his first steps to take. The Tower feels as if it is beckoning him, welcoming him home.

“Oh! Excellent. It looks like Youngho got you here, safe and sound.”

Right. Safe and sound.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Doyoung nods quietly, fingertips cold. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

The man before him looks _human_ , for lack of a better word. The curve of his shoulders, the spread of his smile, and the way he walks towards him with wide eyes feels familiar. Youngho, for all his due diligence, could not replicate _this_ —whatever it is that makes humans feel _human_.

“My name is Taeyong and this is my home.” He sweeps his arms00 in a grand gesture of welcome, and Doyoung feels, somewhere in his body, that this is where he is meant to be. “What do you go by?”

“Doyoung.” The foyer is wide, but warm, and Doyoung thinks that it’s a welcome change from the forest outside. “Is there… Is there anyone else here?”

“Oh, well,” Taeyong murmurs, teapot clattering, “it’s only me, if you really think about it.”

Silent, Doyoung looks around the room and thinks that Taeyong must be lonely in this tower all on his own. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt for him to stay for a little while. Even if this is a dream—even if this is the afterlife—Doyoung thinks that spending a moment more here wouldn’t hurt. There’s a loneliness in this silence, and Doyoung wonders how to sympathize with a feeling he can’t comprehend.

“But it’s only ever been just me, so there isn’t really any reason for you to look at me like that.” Taeyong’s smile is soft, a little hurt, and yet full of understanding. “You know of the Tower, don’t you?”

“From my mother’s stories.”

Taeyong appears contemplative, hands clasping behind his back as he turns away, jerking his head in a motion that asks for Doyoung to follow. “I figured as much. Allow me to tell you about the Tower.”

When Doyoung wakes up, he realizes two things: First, he is in the tower of his mother’s stories; and second, this is where he _belongs_. Or that’s the feeling he gets, anyways. Doyoung was never one to follow anything other than rationality, and yet here he finds himself, in a made-up place, in a room he can call his own, brought here by powers out of his control.

And here is where the story _ends_.

Or the story that brought Doyoung here, at least. The reality is that stories never speak of the _after_ , and here is where Doyoung can _shine_.

“The Tower is _alive_ , you could say,” Taeyong had said, pushing open a window. “Spoken word is a powerful thing imbued with magic, and the Tower has benefitted from that.”

There was a time that the Tower had not existed, and one day, it appeared. Taeyong made it sound simple—as if a building suddenly appearing is _normal_. And Doyoung thinks that perhaps, in his world, it is. This place, after all, defies reality in the sort of way that fairy tales do.

“You’re here because it _wants_ you here. You’re _supposed_ to be here, Doyoung.”

The look in Taeyong’s eyes had been sad as he spoke, like he wished he could take his words back. Doyoung doesn’t understand why. In a place so big, yet devoid of life, Taeyong must be lonely. Loneliness beguiles company, and he supposes that’s the position he’s in now. And his house is _alive_ , or something close, so perhaps he isn’t as alone as Doyoung thinks.

This room is big, the sunlight is bright, and this feels like home.

“I don’t like this.” Doyoung clasps his hands together and shakes his head. “I don’t _understand_ this.”

“I’m afraid there’s not much for you to understand.” His voice is muffled, but it sounds clear enough through the door. “It was quite hard to find your door this morning, though. It seems like the Tower is excited to have a new resident.”

Pause. One deep breath. “How long have you been standing there?”

“… A bit. I’m afraid it’s been a while since I’ve had a guest, too. I’ve forgotten my manners. I should’ve knocked, shouldn’t I?”

The laughter that leaves Doyoung’s chest is relieving. It’s a reminder that he’s alive, despite all circumstances, and that all of this is real, and he’s not just losing his mind. Nothing makes sense—not that it ever will—but it’s nice to remember that he’s alive.

“You can come in. It’s not like it matters now, right?”

Taeyong’s face appears first, as if detached from his body, as he hovers in the doorway, unsure of whether Doyoung’s invitation is genuine. It takes a delicately raised hand, a somewhat genuine, albeit nervous smile, and another bout of laughter—awkward, this time—to coax Taeyong into the room, as if this place was not his in the first place.

And that’s how the first morning goes. And the second. And the third. Doyoung doesn’t realize how fast time passes until Taeyong opens the door with something akin to confidence. A short stay turns into a prolonged visit, and Doyoung realizes, with quiet reverence, that he doesn’t want to leave. It’s no longer the story that keeps him here, though, but a sense of affection for the building that keeps him warm, the face that greets him every morning, and the rooms that randomize themselves every day.

He isn’t sure that he believes the magic that flows within the Tower yet, though he’s sure he believes the man who speaks of it.

This journey has been a sequence of possibilities, as they tend to be. Now settled, Doyoung feels restless. Taeyong invites him to explore the Tower, which he does, finding himself lost between hallways that stretch so far yet seem to come from nowhere.

Youngho, gracious as he is, rarely shows his face, appearing only momentarily to guide him between trees to meet those that call the forest home. They’re friendly—even if not at first—and Doyoung learns from Taeyong that the Tower keeps them safe.

“It’s alive,” Taeyong had said with a laugh. “I told you that, didn’t I? Or it’s something close enough to alive that it’s just easy to call it as such.”

No one strays inside the tower that doesn’t belong. It’s a rule that Doyoung doesn’t understand and Taeyong never put in place. They’re welcome in the Tower if they truly _wish_ to find shelter, and yet never request it. Even Youngho stands outside the door, acting as if repelled from its interior. Few call the Tower their home, specific rooms set aside for them.

“I think, today, it should be this door, but sometimes even I am wrong.”

When Taeyong walks through the halls of the tower, it seems as if he always knows where he’s going, even when he doesn’t. There’s a self-conscious confidence about his movements that remind Doyoung that Taeyong has been here for a long, long time. Taeyong, after all, can tell Doyoung that a million and one times, and his reaction will always be the same: Doyoung will smile and nod and pretend that his mind can understand the scales of time that Taeyong speaks of.

“What should?”

“There are those in the forest who don’t come from here,” Taeyong says, smiling as if it answers Doyoung’s question. “It is _my_ job to make sure that they have somewhere that they can call home. Well, our job.”

There are endless doors, endless possibilities. Taeyong navigates them with ease as he says _our_. Doyoung still doesn’t understand the implications of that word, or what it means. Will he stay here forever, just like Taeyong? One step makes the start of a journey, and all those that follow are pre-determined, or something along those lines.

It is, in the end, not the door they were looking for. They find it through trial and error, and Taeyong explains that, sometimes, the Tower is not as patient or as kind as he likes to believe.

“Magic is fickle, and the Tower is no exception. If it wants us to find our destination, we will. If it doesn’t, then we won’t. It’s simple. There are only two outcomes. The Tower can only change its rooms once a day, though, so it might just take a little bit of an adventure.”

What Taeyong seeks is a warm room made of glass, home to a collection of flowers that he cannot name. Things like this are foreign to him. Doyoung doesn’t understand the appeal of collecting pretty things, but Kun had once pressed a dried flower into his palm, anyways. _It’s good luck_ , Kun whispered into the forest, as if afraid of someone else hearing. _My dad told me that someone who had a flower like this had their wish granted_. There are no wishes that Doyoung wanted granted, so he has simply thanked Kun and held onto that wish for another day, tucking the dead flower between the pages of a small notebook Ten had gifted him for his ninth birthday.

“I don’t recognize any of these.” Petals are soft between his fingers. Kun would love this place, he thinks. Press and dry the petals between the pages of heavy books and gift them to his friends as a sign of loyalty and care. “Where are they from?”

“Far away,” says Taeyong, holding out his hand. “From the lands that these three call home.”

“These… three?”

“Faeries are small as stories say, you know. And shy, too. Not as tricky or sly, though some, of course, are more cunning than others.” There’s a gesture, towards his hand, and Doyoung squints, unable to _see_. He’s not chosen, probably, though he’s not sure he cares much. “Like I said. Shy. They’ll warm up to you eventually, I’m sure.”

Taeyong, among the flowers, looks the way that Doyoung always imagined faeries. Ethereal, and otherworldly, holding a grace that he cannot put a name to. He’s a mystery in the sort of way that Doyoung wouldn’t mind knowing more. Behind him, the windows show the forest and Doyoung thinks that he is, perhaps, learning the meaning of forever.

“I like this room,” Doyoung says, honest, because Taeyong probably deserves it.

“Yes, well, you’re surely not alone.” Lights, faint, flicker through the air, as Taeyong smiles. “You know, Youngho will surely set a table and chair in here for you if you so wish. This is probably a nice place to write, or have a cup of tea. Or both.”

“Or both.”

Taeyong’s gaze is something special. He looks at Doyoung like he understands the turmoil in his heart better than anyone else and perhaps he does, even if enough time has passed for the people he once missed to have passed away.

“Well, this place is yours as well, now, so this room is whatever you wish for it to be in function, even if in appearance it doesn’t change,” Taeyong says with a smile.

The truth of this place becoming _his_ as well is warming, though strange. The Tower has become a place that Doyoung can rest in with confidence. His home, his village, has so quickly faded to the back of his consciousness. A passing thought here or there—how are they, what are they doing—occurs, though never enough to stick in his mind.

For now, that is fine.

He does not yet know that the people he cherishes are forgetting him with the passage of time, as he settles into his new home. Doyoung will learn and have to make decisions. But, for now, he will live this life of his in comfort and confidence.

Time does not heal all wounds, but it teaches new lessons. There are meals shared, conversations held, and visitors entertained. Taeyong is a stranger that becomes a friend, or rather, a confidant. Doyoung can count the number of people he trusts on one hand. Breakfasts are modest, lunches are quaint, and dinners are supplemented with discussions that lead to stories.

“The fate of the Tower’s keeper is an eternity of loneliness in exchange for our care.” Taeyong had spoken with care and diligence, and Doyoung had listened. “I’m sure your mother’s story had told you that the Tower would provide everything in exchange for opportunities at companionship. Loneliness is an expectation of those that receive the job.”

Doyoung knows this, can tell as much from the way Taeyong receives company with a smile that still emanates sadness stemming from eternal loneliness. The truth of the matter is that Doyoung had always heard the story but had never understood what the words meant.

The forest, around them, is a home for those with faces and names that he will never be able to remember the way Taeyong does, and yet shrinks every day. Stories will be pervasive and provide magic, but they will rarely become strong enough to stop the flow of time. The Tower is an exception, though Doyoung wonders if it’s the lack of fear.

“There’s nothing to conquer about it,” Doyoung whispers, glancing down at his herbal tea. Rehydrated petals settle at the bottom the longer he sits there. “Don’t you think that maybe it’s because people fear the forest, and fear is something you can overcome? While something you don’t understand or _want_ cannot?”

His suggestions are, as always, accepted with deep thought and careful consideration. Doyoung is a breath of fresh air, after all, a glimpse into the world that has changed beyond these walls that Taeyong cannot see and has not seen in years. The story has since long ended, and now it is Doyoung who makes the decision.

It is Doyoung who catches glimpses into the heavy weight dragging down Taeyong’s heart, and it is Doyoung who listens to lessons on infinity and forever that Taeyong weaves into his stories of life within the Tower. Time moving so slowly it’s nearly non-existent is as close to forever as one can reach. Taeyong looks not a day over eighteen yet tells Doyoung he only remembers trees in the place where his village now stands.

“It’s a nice theory, but it doesn’t explain how someone like me ended up here and not, say, someone who wanted it more.”

Autumn, outside the window, is the only indication of the passage of time. Doyoung thinks of his mother, who Youngho tells him has already forgotten him, and his father, who Youngho tells him has nearly forgotten him, and his brother, who Youngho tells him still asks of a Doyoung when he walks the paths to the next village. Imprints of himself in the form of memories persist delicately in spaces that are small enough for him to go missing.

Even Kun and Ten, he is told, have moved on.

“Doyoung, do you regret this?” Taeyong makes a sweeping gesture with his arm. “You know, I mean, staying here.”

“Even if it’s the Tower that brought me here, I’m not sure that I mind anymore.” His feet touch the ground, and it feels solid and real, a reminder that he is alive. “For a while I did, I think. I thought that this was temporary. But the longer I stayed, the more I realized that I learned to feel alive here in a proper sort of way.”

Doyoung once viewed life as linear, without derivations. The Tower was one path, staying another branch. The direction of his life has become winding, forever spiraling in the same place. There was a point A that precedes a point B, and Doyoung ever believed going from one to another, rather than viewing all the other paths he could journey down. He is not missed, and this is the place he has found.

“I hope that feeling stays with you for a long time.”

It is a winter morning, though not cold in the Tower, when Taeyong leaves. Moments as such are never easy, though they are, indeed, inevitable. Taeyong had implied it in the past, in passing, in ways that Doyoung was able to pretend did not exist. A man with a bag at a door is not the same.

“Remember when I told you that the Tower, every so often, calls upon another person to watch over it, and someone, as always, answers the call, and, when the time comes, its care is handed over to the newcomer? This time, it’s _you_. I’m glad someone kind arrived.”

“Taeyong, I… I’m not sure that I’m ready to look over the Tower…” Doyoung can feel the tips of his fingers begin to prick from the force with which he pulls his hands together. It’s a lie, because he had accepted his role long ago. It’s rather the threat of absence that scares him. “I, just… I’m not sure if I can do it without you.”

Taeyong smiles, and it’s bittersweet because there are layers to their dependence. It is no longer, simply: _I cannot do this without you_. It has become: _I cannot exist without you_. They both acknowledge this, and such is the fate of the Tower. After all, it brings together those who are supposed to love, and asks for them to part and wait for their future. The Tower, after all, cannot provide love.

“You’ll see me again, in the future. You can wait.”

“I… You’re right. I can wait.”

Love, after all, is something that is eternal, and Doyoung finally understands the concept of forever and infinity.

And time passes in a sort of way that Doyoung doesn’t fully understand, propelling itself towards an eternity that he’s been told to expect but still can’t fully comprehend.

When Doyoung looks out over the forest, nothing makes any sense. Not the urge that drew him between the trees, nor the reason that he decided to call the Tower his home. Every day the rooms change, and he’s prompted to find his way to the door again to contemplate leaving. The story has ended, and now everything is _his_ to decide.

Tales begin with _once upon a time_ and end with _happily ever after_ , and yet Doyoung realizes now that the happily ever after doesn’t have to mean that things stay the same. In fact, it rarely means that things will stay the same.

This is _Doyoung’s_ story now, not the tale that has pulled him into the Tower. The power to make things _change_ is now in his hands.

Somewhere, beyond the boundary, his parents live, wondering how he’s doing. _I’m doing fine_ , he’d like to tell them. _In fact, I’m doing better than fine_. Doyoung is sure that Kun and Ten are thriving in the sort of way that the world intended for them to. The lives of the people he loves, have loved, and will love, are moving at their own speed, in their own direction, and Doyoung will wait to hear their stories. Meanwhile a book will sit in a corner, collecting dust on top of a layer of charcoal.

Doyoung doesn’t know everything, after all. The list of things he knows is small and expands little by little every day someone stands before him and tells him a story that he’s never heard before.

Out of all the things he knows, things about Taeyong rest at the top. He knows that wherever Taeyong has gone he cannot follow, and this is a path he cannot turn back from. Time has passed in a way that escapes his ability to understand, seconds melting into minutes, building into hours, all culminating into days after days after days. This is now Doyoung’s tower to keep and Doyoung’s forest to protect, and one day Taeyong will return.

Until then, Doyoung will wait.

☆☆☆

_Deep within a forest stands a tower whose spire disappears between the clouds. In it lives a man. The man within the tower protects it and its people from the world outside of it and brings with him the words of truth. In return, he is never, ever to leave._

_Deep within that forest, high up in the tower, a man will wait for what feels like an eternity, until the magic releases him and time is allowed to continue in his veins. His name is Doyoung Kim, and the love in his heart will continue to grow until Taeyong returns to the tower to take him home._


End file.
